—HRM Rokan Uddin—

The United States has often spoken words of peace while practicing the mechanics of power. But, what is unfolding now is quite different. During Donald Trump’s first term as a US President, his foreign policy posture was framed (at least rhetorically) as anti-war, anti-intervention, and hostile to the costly “forever wars” that drained American blood and treasure from Vietnam to Iraq and Afghanistan. He criticised regime-change adventures, questioned NATO’s value, and promised to put “America First” by staying out of other nations’ internal affairs. Many at home and abroad believed this signalled a strategic retrenchment.

Yet, in his second coming to power, the face of policy appears markedly different. The language of restraint has given way to a language of coercion. Regime change, once criticised as a disastrous legacy of the post-cold war American empire, has again surfaced as an acceptable instrument. Venezuela, Cuba, Iran and even talk surrounding Colombia are being discussed not merely as diplomatic challenges but as political systems to be reshaped. The shock is compounded when an allied territory like Greenland is openly spoken of in terms of “ownership,” evoking a 19th-century imperial vocabulary long thought buried.

History matters here. The United States has intervened directly or indirectly in more than 70 countries since World War II. Iran’s elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh was overthrown in 1953 with CIA involvement. Guatemala followed in 1954. Chile in 1973. Nicaragua, El Salvador, Grenada, Panama—each episode justified in its time by anti-communism, national security, or hemispheric stability. The Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961 was not just a failed military operation; it permanently radicalised Cuban politics and pushed Havana decisively into Moscow’s embrace.

These actions did not bring lasting stability; they produced resentment, authoritarian backlash, and enduring distrust of American intentions.

The recent US operation to forcibly remove Venezuela’s leader, regardless of one’s opinion of Nicolás Maduro, has reopened that historical wound across Latin America. For many in the region, this was not seen as a defence of democracy but as confirmation that sovereignty remains conditional when it clashes with Washington’s interests. The Monroe Doctrine of 1823, originally a warning to European empires, has once again been interpreted as a license for American dominance. This interpretation has always backfired. Latin America’s political instability in the 20th century was not reduced by intervention. It was prolonged by it.

What makes the current moment especially dangerous is that these external actions are occurring alongside profound internal hardening. Immigration enforcement inside the United States has become increasingly militarised. Agencies like ICE and Border Patrol have been granted expanded authority, broader discretion, and deeper integration with local law enforcement. As of early 2026, over a thousand cooperation agreements existed between federal immigration authorities and state or local bodies. This is not merely a policy adjustment; it is a structural shift in the relationship between the state and millions of residents.

The human consequences are predictable. Communities retreat in fear. Crime reporting drops. Trust between citizens and institutions erodes. Mixed-status families, where one member may be undocumented and another a US citizen, live under constant psychological pressure. This is not theoretical. Studies after similar enforcement surges in the late 2000s showed measurable declines in public health visits, school attendance, and cooperation with police in immigrant-dense areas. A state may appear strong when it expands coercive power, but social cohesion weakens quietly beneath the surface.

There is also an economic cost. The United States is aging.

Fertility rates have fallen below replacement level. Without immigration, the US population would begin shrinking within a decade. Official projections already show that future population growth is slowing sharply, threatening labour supply, productivity and the tax base that funds Social Security and Medicare.

Agriculture, construction, caregiving, and service industries remain deeply dependent on immigrant labour. Enforcement without viable legal pathways does not “fix” the system; it creates black markets, exploitation, and economic distortion.

Regionally, the combination of regime-change politics and immigration crackdowns risks creating a self-reinforcing cycle.

Pressure and destabilisation abroad generate displacement.

Displacement fuels migration. Migration then justifies harsher enforcement, which in turn deepens resentment toward the United States and reduces cooperation on security, narcotics control, and trade. Instead of stability, the region becomes more fragmented, more nationalist, and more suspicious of American leadership.

Globally, the implications are even broader. When the United States speaks of taking territory from an ally, or removing leaders by force, it weakens the very international norms it claims to defend. The rules-based order cannot survive selective application. If Washington normalizes coercion, others will follow: Russia in its near abroad, China in its periphery, regional powers elsewhere. Moral authority, once lost, cannot be rebuilt with military budgets or sanctions alone.

Allies respond not with open defiance but with hedging. They diversify trade, weapons procurement, financial systems, and diplomatic alignments. The dollar remains dominant, but trust is no longer unlimited. NATO remains intact, but political cohesion is strained when smaller members quietly wonder whether protection can turn into pressure. The result is a world that is not more orderly, but more transactional and brittle.

At home, the United States is unlikely to collapse, but it is likely to harden politically, socially and psychologically. Courts will clash with the executive. States will diverge sharply in compliance and resistance. The public sphere will grow more polarised as enforcement becomes more visible in everyday life.

Abroad, American power may appear formidable in the short term, but long-term influence depends not only on force, but on legitimacy. History offers no comfort to those who believe coercion produces loyalty, or that strength need not be restrained by principle. If America wishes to lead, it must remember that leadership is not ownership.